Sinkkonen hurried away, relieved to have got off so lightly. Rokka didn’t move into the NCO lodgings or perform any extra guard duty, and no one attempted to make him. The issue hadn’t actually been so important to him as all that, but they had certainly managed to make it important, so obviously he couldn’t back down. And so the Finnish soldier emerged victorious from one more struggle for independence.
The incident provoked restlessness within the company. There was a great deal of discussion about it that night, and then, to top it off, a rumor began circulating that they were going to be sent to the front. The men were feeling irritable, as the return to formal barracks living and boot camp-style discipline felt like an insult, particularly in light of their achievements that summer.
Lahtinen thought his moment had come, and started spouting off again about how everything would turn out in the end. ‘I mean, Timoshenko’s giving it to the SS over there in Rostov-on-Don, that’s all I’m sayin’. And you know how it goes: when the falls freeze, the ducks are fucked.’
‘I dunno,’ said Salo, who had also acquired a medal in the recent handout and so was in a mood to salute even the Master Sergeant. ‘As soon as summer comes back round, they’ll start drivin’ in those wedges with the tanks again.’
At three o’clock in the morning, the company was called to alert. The men awoke to see the officers moving about in full uniform, and immediately suspected what was afoot.
‘The company is preparing for departure. Vehicles arrive in one hour.’
Then came the cursing, followed by murmurs and whispers. ‘We’re not leaving.’
Lammio heard their murmuring, but pretended not take the least note of it. He ordered the men to hurry up. Some of them lethargically started gathering up their clothes, but most of them looked like they had no intention of going anywhere.
‘Hurry up, hurry up. We’ve only got one hour.’
‘We’re not leaving.’
Now even Lammio could no longer pretend not to hear. ‘Who said that?’
‘We’re not leaving.’
Murmurs rose here and there.
‘Is that so? I disagree. Anyone who is not ready for departure in one hour will present his case before the court martial.’
The men gathered in their quarters, urging one another not to leave. They appealed to the fact that they had been promised a long period of rest once the city had been taken. Actually, they hadn’t officially been promised anything. They had just harbored this hope themselves, and hope had given rise to rumor. The fact was, life in the city was good – too good, and it came as a sharp blow, suddenly, to have to leave it.
As usual, the majority of the group remained undecided, waiting to see which way the scales would tip. Lammio turned to the NCOs and ordered them to prepare for departure. He managed to get them moving, but the men did not follow. Time passed and Lammio was beginning to grow irritated. ‘I am saying this for the last time. Prepare to head out! Anyone who fails to follow orders will do well to remember that the maximum sentence for such an offense is the death penalty.’
‘Fuck it… our fire don’t hurt any worse than the Russkis’. Bring it on!’
‘Bring it on! Send the whole goddamn circus up in flames.’
‘Anyway, we’re not leaving without a change of company commander.’
‘Koskela for company commander! Then we’ll go.’
Lammio didn’t find this insulting in the least. It was genuinely inconceivable to him that he himself should be the object of the men’s distrust. ‘This is not some kind of Red Guard that elects its company commanders by shouting out votes. Is that clear? I am ordering you for the last time. After that I will advance to other measures.’
Koskela had remained silent the whole time, standing off to the side. Now he went over to his bed. Calmly, as if nothing had happened, he said, ‘Better get moving, I guess. The convoy’ll probably be late just like every other time, but anyway. Don’t take too much extra junk with you. The instruments are pretty nice to have around… I guess we can manage to take ’em along somehow or other.’
Slowly the men of the Third Platoon began to pack up their belongings. No one made a sound. The quiet lieutenant standing in the middle of the room was like some sort of solid, stilling force, draining them of all desire to protest. The most remarkable thing of all was that, in spite of everything, the men sensed that Koskela was on their side. The weight of his presence – of him, personally – compelled them to action, but it aroused no bitterness in them. It just felt evident and natural that they should leave, once Koskela had commanded it.
The men from the other platoons skulked by, hissing quietly so Koskela couldn’t hear, ‘You mean you’re leaving? Don’t back down now, damn it!’
‘What else are we supposed to do?’
The men in the Third Platoon were angry, as it felt rather awful to be the source of the splintering – still, it did not occur to any of them to go against Koskela. And with that, the whole company began preparing for departure. Backing down was easy for the rest of them. ‘What does it matter? If the Third Platoon’s going…’
Koskela was silent. His face was expressionless as he paced back and forth, but he was following the tenor of the company the whole time. He knew that the others would follow the Third Platoon; he was only a little afraid that Lammio would open his mouth again and turn the tide on the whole matter. But, luckily, even he remained silent.
This time, the convoy was prompt. They loaded up quickly, and the battalion set out. The first snow had fallen overnight and the vehicles roared through the city in its weak, glittering light, turning onto the south-bound road.
‘Where are they taking us?’ somebody asked Koskela.
‘The Svir. Sounds like they’ve crossed the river.’
‘Hey, Rokka! Cheer up! Looks like we’re all doin’ duty without relief – for who knows how many days!’ Hietanen wasn’t thinking of Vera. Their departure had banished any such thoughts from his mind. Only her Youth League pin remained, tucked in his wallet.
Rokka seemed the least bothered by the departure. ‘Sankia Priha the Great! Play us sumpin’ on’nat record-player a yours. It’ll work sittin’ in your lap, won’t it?’
Vanhala’s new name had been established. He set the gramophone in his lap and it started to play, skipping and jiggling. Rokka clapped his hands together, swayed his shoulders and sang, ‘Yokkantee and Yokkantee and yommaiyyaa…’
The silent, dusky forest flashed by along the roadside.
Chapter Nine
‘Come out,’ the Military Police Lieutenant commanded in a stiff, unnatural voice as he opened the sauna door. The guard standing beside it asked in a nervous rush, ‘Can I go now? You don’t need me anymore, do you?’
‘On your way.’
The guard practically sprinted away, as if afraid they might still call him back. The Lieutenant stepped back from the door, allowing the two privates to exit the sauna. They stopped just in front of the threshold and waited in silence. They saw the dim, winter morning just on the point of daybreak, and, above all, they saw the group of Military Police officers, the Lieutenant and the military judge standing off to the side. The army chaplain had left, as the men had refused to receive him.
One of the men was tall and carried himself very upright. He brushed his disheveled blond hair off his forehead. His face was strong and masculine, with a flinty toughness that was evident even in the dim light. He looked at the Lieutenant, but the latter averted his eyes, as if unable to endure that burning, penetrating gaze, which only the knowledge of imminent death can bring to a man’s eyes. The other fellow was smaller and seemed to emanate a sort of numb nervousness. He trembled silently the whole time, as if he were freezing. The blond fellow was twenty-five at most, his shorter companion already well into his thirties. Both were bare-headed and beltless, wearing their combat jackets.